Race Report - Giro Di Coppi (2011)

This is a simple race report.

28th place. 41 finishers. Yyech.

Excitement, Adventure, Really Wild Things!

Excited to ride a real road race—not some trumped-up crit.

Excited to be with four other members of my team—Adventures for the Cure. Friendly faces, strength in numbers, and all that.

Excited to see where my fitness would be, what with all the long, hilly rides I've been doing.

Three laps. 12.5 miles each. Always up or down. Few flat roads. Few turns. Should be a perfect course for me!

SccCccrrrrrrraaAtttCchhhh

Dropped Like a Nasty Habit.

Half-way through the second lap the elastic streeeeeetched to its limit. I was off the back.

"Wha-wha-what?" I kept asking myself. How the he'll did that happen?

Then the answers flooded in...

• You're old.
  You're 43 and you have no business racing against these young'ens.
  
• You're fat.
  You may weigh what you weighed as an all-New England high school athlete, but this ain't soccer or lacrosse. Drop ten pounds you old, fat bastard!
  
• You're weak.
  Up and down Skyline Drive in two days? 220 miles and 20,000 feet of climbing? Piss-tosh! Where's the intensity? Where's the punch? Ride long and slow and you train yourself to ride: long and slow...
  
• You've got a head full of mush. Jens Voigt says "Shut up legs!" And they listen. You say "Sorry, legs, did that hurt? So sorry! I'll make it easier for you. There, there, everything will be OK."

You should try spending 10 minutes in my head.

No, scratch that. Save yourself. It ain't worth it.

So, What Happened?

Three things resonate, that when combined, make sense to me.

1. I had no warm-up.
   

   

   D'ya think one of these might help?

   
   A combination of home obligations and traffic congestion meant that I got to the site 40 minutes prior to the race. With registration and getting spare wheels in to the wheel car, I had 15 minutes to get my body and mind ready.
   
   Considering that I was breathless that morning with excitement about the race, and that I had just had a traffic-induced anxiety jolt, there was no way that I could re-set my mind in 15 minutes.
   
   Considering that I have a long-established need for a 60-minute warmup (every everything I do on the bike feels like crap for that first hour), I was never going to get my body set in 15 minutes.
   
   Lesson Learned: Get there early, moron!
   
   
2. I rode at the back of the bunch.
   
   
   
   Stupid is as stupid does.
   
   I know that it is a huge waste of energy to be back there, accordioning in and out like a cartoon character, but there I was.
   
   No warmup meant creaking knees, cracking back, and and popping hips. I describe myself as geriatric, sadly, all of that is true. Thus, when the course starts with a hill, and the well-warmed vigorous masses escalate it, I dig deep, scrape bottom, and whimper.
   
   So, I rode safely near the back, where I would have the race in front of me and would have the opportunity to warm-up.
   
   But that takes enormous energy. Much less than if I were in the body of the pack. I realized this, and near the end of the first lap I tried to move up, but three enormously-shouldered, thunderously-thighed riders from one of the Northern Virginia teams rode in phalanx formation, making it impossible to move up.
   
   Even when things got strung-out after a turn, I couldn't advance. Those thighs translated into vicious criterium-style sprints out of the corners.
   
   Bastards.
   
   Lesson Learned: Fight for the pack and stay there!
   
   
3. I'm Fatter and Weaker Than I Think I Am.
   

   

   More this...

   
   I weighed 173 the morning of the race. Not bad for a 5' 10" 43-year-old. Not great for a cyclist.
   
   I know that if I am going to improve that I need to increase my strength-to-weigh ratio.
   
   Looking at the problem backwards, my weight could be better. In the past few years I found that my best performance weigh is 168 pounds. Less than that and I break down; I get sick.
   

   

   ...than this.

   
   Five pounds doesn't sound like a lot. As a percentage, it isn't a lot. But that five pounds means a boatload when hauling arse up a hill. The old adage was: "1 kilo, 1 kilometer, 1 minute." Granted, Coppi ain't the alps. But five pounds = 2 kilos. You figure it out.
   
   Looking at the strength/weight ratio from the front, I need to improve strength.
   
   I need to get out of my comfort zones and burst with intensity. Time to get out of Zone 3, where I can spend hours, and hit the hard stuff.
   
   It seems like I'm always "saving it"—for...something. I don't know what.
   
   I get into a hard effort, start to feel the burny-ouchy-breathlessly-hard stuff, and back off. "I need to have it...later." That's the refrain. Bike commute, group ride, weekend ride, always the same: "I'll need it later."
   
   But I don't! So what if I drag myself in like a drowned kitten? So what if I get off the bike and wobble for the first ten steps? I'm not getting better! If I care, I need to leave it out there, and stop "saving it".

Why We Race

I thought I was better than I am. I never had the delusion that I would win, but I hoped to be able to ride for another, helping out in the finale. I genuinely hoped that I could help launch someone else to win.

Chasing...chasing...

I know I'm not the strongest rider out there. I simply thought I had more than what I produced.

And that's the magic, innit?

Why do we race? To test ourselves; to learn our limits.

I got schooled.

It was a useful lesson.

Epilogue

I appreciate Jason's comment (below) for a reminder...

We pin on our numbers. We mix it up. We bump elbows. We rub wheels.

We're alive in the moment. We're awakened to everything around us.

We race.

As long as we are out there, we thrive.

Chapeau!